


Kinktober Request Bin

by orphan_account



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Boot Worship, Collars, Dirty Talk, Dominance, Dubious Consent, Ecto-Genitalia (Undertale), F/F, F/M, Foot Jobs, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, Large Cock, M/M, Master/Pet, Masturbation, Multi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pet Play, Pining, Praise Kink, Rough Sex, Self-cest, Spicyhoney - Freeform, Submission, Teasing, Wall Sex, kingdings, mettapants - Freeform, papcest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 06:44:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12249090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A collection of kinks and pairings requested from lovely people for Kinktober. With each new installation, I will include appropriate tags, kinks, and ships.Happy reading!





	1. Spicyhoney Papcest - Pet Play and Collaring

“now. heel.” 

Feigning against the thrill of dominance and arousal flaring up to his SOUL, Stretch smirked playfully and hunched over his seat on the jangly couch to conceal the growing magical manifestation constructing underneath his shorts. His pubis symphasis nearly charred under the sheer pressure of it all; he fought down the stirrings of lust, his erection ready to blow and combust so readily without even a single stroke of stimulation. 

The sight was just too delicious to take. 

“good boy.”

Kneeling between Stretch’s legs on the carpet in front of the couch was Edge, unclothed and unfettered from his layers of dignity, his baggage of noble grandeur. Acutely poised and postured, Edge’s spine was strung straight and taut, his eye sockets downcast, but his gloved hands rested placidly on his femurs, expectant and waiting. Docile. 

A blush burned bright down Stretch’s skull as he took everything in, his gaze fixated on Edge’s expression, finding it contemplative, collected, and wanting, and no less aroused knowing that he and Edge could explore this new type of play with no qualms or apprehensions. 

Seeing Edge like this, acquiescent and submissive, Stretch felt every inclination to strip him bare, to expose the deep carnality he kept so carefully wrapped under a rigid guise. 

There and in that moment, Edge was on his knees, silently begging and yearning for the right to give up his reservations, his SOUL racing but his body tethered in the anticipation of Stretch’s influence to set him free. 

He trusted Stretch to love and not violate him. 

And he knew of the pleasure that Stretch could bring him. 

Floating in a headspace of his relinquished control, Edge’s attention became suddenly hyper-aware when he heard faint sounds of rustling. His back rounded straighter, plucked tight, but he didn’t raise his skull above the place where it was supposed to be. 

He was a pet, and pets must heed their masters’ orders. 

In accordance, Stretch had promised a gift for their new form of play, and Edge wouldn’t dare squander the opportunity by rebelling or falling out of their respective roles. 

After what felt like infinity, a warm sensation spread down Edge’s bones as the feeling of Stretch’s phalanges soothingly caressing the side of his skull roused him. 

A brief, breathless chuckle met him, but Edge stayed compliant in his reverie, lingering in the stillness. 

“you’re such a good boy. so well behaved,” Stretch murmured, staring down at Edge and feeling glorious and tall. 

Stretch rubbed at the sensitive spot underneath Edge’s jaw, and he practically purred, his mind sinking deeply into acceptance and surrender with the praise. 

“still can’t believe you let me do this to you.” 

Edge flushed and his SOUL fluttered in his ribcage, but Stretch’s voice lulled softer and quieter, asking for confirmation, “you want this, right?”

He eagerly nodded, his own arousal charging and sensitive. He would always want this. He needed nothing more in this instant but _this_. He needed to be Stretch’s, needed to be cared for and on his knees. 

Edge leaned into Stretch’s touch and made a soft sound of candidness. There were no judgements or instances of ridicule. No fear. Stretch would take care of him, keep him safe. 

For a long moment, Edge could sense Stretch staring at him, searching. Stretch must have found it, because he patted the top of Edge’s cranium lovingly and released a relieved sigh, “nyeh heh, so eager to please, huh?” 

“i think you deserve a reward,” Stretch tilted a phalange underneath Edge’s jaw, “look up, sweetheart.”

He did, meeting Stretch’s amused expression, and his attention instantly locked onto the bulge straining in Stretch’s shorts. Stretch honed in on Edge’s eye sockets, smirked, and rubbed at the bulge before he wetly groaned.

“see what you do to me? you’re so damn beautiful, i can’t help myself.”

Edge held back a growl. The teasing bastard. 

“this gift outta be perfect then,” Stretch reached into the pocket of his hoodie, and Edge’s breathing grew shallow as excitement coursed down his bones, “a wild beauty like you should be tamed, don’t you think?”

A small, plain white box was revealed, and Edge was paralyzed, his SOUL thrumming and numb. Edge looked up at Stretch once, nodded in encouragement, and Stretch reciprocated with his own smile of reassurance as he carefully removed the lid.

Finally, the box was open, and Edge peered down to take in the dark, fabric lining of leather. 

Steel. 

Hardy and cold, just like him.

A warmth ignited inside of Edge, and Stretch slipped out the black, leather cord, the knots in it gleaming in the light, and a thin circle of steel strung just across the middle. Stretch placed it in his palm to show it off as an offering, and Edge took quick notice of the center. He could make out the dark inscription of the letter “P” in the metal. 

“you know what this is, right?” Stretch asked, uncharacteristically intense and focused, even for him, “i found at the snow shop the other day, and it instantly reminded me of you.” 

Stretch unclasped the leather collar, and when Edge felt it grazing his collarbone, it took everything in him to restrain himself from touching it lovingly. 

“don’t move, hold still.”

The metal felt cold against his bones as Stretch refastened the collar around his neck. Edge’s cheekbones flushed deeper and he instinctively lowered his gaze, only to feel Stretch grip his skull, willing his eye sockets back to Stretch’s. 

“i told you not to move. i wanna get a good look at you. nothing to be embarrassed about.” There’s tint of annoyance in Stretch’s tone but somewhere excitement and lust is in there too. 

His property was proudly on display. The black cord clashed with the white of Edge’s bones, and images flashed through Edge’s mind of what it would mean to be owned. To have that symbol of ownership against him and hidden beneath his clothing for his own salvation. 

Edge couldn’t hold back the bubbling of his words, his whisper releasing in a rush of adoration, “THANK YOU, SIR.”

Stretch leaned forward to tug at the collar and grinned, “you’re welcome, pet.” 

He slacked against the couch cushion again, palming his weepy cock through his pants, “i love seeing you in my collar.”

“you know why?” While his voice was low, it was full of confidence and command. His erection throbbed painfully and he moaned deeply, “because it means you’re mine.” He was nearly leaking through the fabric but he kept himself composed, “mine to touch. mine to take care of. mine to discipline.” The heat of his breath growled out, “mine to fuck.”

Edge stayed immobilized, bound only by the orders Stretch gave him, but he watched in rapt fascination and hunger. 

Stretch shifted then, unable to abate his arousal tented blatantly in his shorts. He fished out his erection bulging underneath the seams, exposing it before Edge’s surprised eye sockets as it twitched and pulsed with desireable want. 

He quietly huffed through the burn, so intense and sharp, and he stroked his cock with teasingly soft touches to fan his throbbing pangs of lust. His erection was tight and hard as cement from the strain, building and building almost torturously slow to release the pent up magic that threatened to burst. 

Stretch groaned from the contact, eye sockets slipping closed and drowning in the waves of erotica that crashed through him. 

Edge could not swallow back the embarrassing high whine of need that escaped him. It was all he could do not to break from the mold, to keep his hands and mouth from misbehaving and latching onto Stretch’s cock in a desperate attempt to bring Stretch pleasure. It was incredibly infuriating. The object that promised to bring them both to bliss and completion so out of his reach and control. 

Edge’s eye sockets unwaveringly followed every slight movement as Stretch laggardly fisted his cock. Stretch rocked his hips, bucking his erection into his hands in agonizing tandem, although, not fervent enough to reach completion.Peeking through the haze and sweat, Stretch watched how Edge’s eye sockets dilated with longing, and how Edge’s jaw opened up in submission, panting and eager, tongue peeking out between sharp teeth. 

“oh, does a good boy want a treat?” 

Stretch smiled wickedly, and Edge sought clarification from him before responding. Stretch released his grip, erection standing desperate and hard, and a thin string of pre-cum connected between the magical organ and the tip of one of his phalanges. 

“all you gotta do is beg, pet.” Stretch raised his wet phalange over to smear the liquid across Edge’s gnarled teeth, and Edge quickly lapped it up, thirsting for more, “that’s right. beg like the bitch you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the first request I received! Thank you for the suggestion! Also this is my first time writing for this pairing so please take it easy on me (^_^;;) Regardless, this was a pleasure to write~


	2. UF Kingdings - Praise Kink and Wall Sex

Every time Gaster glanced at him, Asgore must have sensed it. The looks of infatuation and wanting flashing in Gaster’s eyes whenever Asgore entered a room. The stunt of breath that seized him whenever Asgore stood too close to be deemed as politely appropriate, his SOUL fluttering with rapid, staggering palpitations. 

Gaster tried to downplay it, his feelings guarded and presence averted. He hadn’t pressed on his impulses. 

His duty to science and engineering was his sanctuary. There, he needn’t hide his passion, his rapacity, his dedication. 

But there was no greater torture in the world. No greater distraction. 

Asgore was glorious. A behemoth of power, LV, and sheer majesty. His great bulk was a reflection of the Underground’s might and terror, the frontline and highest precipice of the expectations the monster race held in their “kill or be killed” world. 

Gaster was subject to covet over him. It was an immense honor to work under Asgore’s directive, to commemorate his many findings and discoveries to the absolute brilliance of his king. 

Even when his admiration teetered into an amorous obsession, dreaming of stroking Asgore’s raven locks or of being weighed down by the king’s imposing mass to be fucked hard and bare, he tried to conceal his longing. 

He tried, but ultimately failed. 

Gaster felt a mix of conflicting emotions radiating off of Asgore every time their paths crossed or during their daily visitations. There was revulsion and aversion, but in the center of it all, Gaster could sense the heart of the king’s loneliness, inner conflict, and untouched, desperate lust.

Tonight was a consequence of their constrained urges. 

When New Home was empty, still, and vacant of stragglers in the dead of night, their gazes held for just a moment before Asgore advanced on him. 

They couldn’t even make it to the bedroom. 

Asgore’s appetite sliced through Gaster’s lab coat, ripped apart his slacks, pinned his smaller, skinny frame until he was trapped against the hallway wall, and pushed his head down to kneel in front of the king’s crotch, cock bulging and massive. 

Gaster knew exactly what to do, having dreamt of milking Asgore dry until the king would succumb to the pleasure while his tonsils would vacuum up every heavy drop, that is.  
The king’s thumb hooked under the corner of Gaster’s mouth and his fingers pushed up against Gaster’s jaw to tilt it up, exposing the fragile, vulnerable neck he could snap so effortlessly. 

Gaster had wanted this for so long, he wanted Asgore’s fangs to bruise him, he wanted to kiss and lick every inch of Asgore’s burly body and heavy cock. To experience and experiment. Although he was always too apprehensive to do, because everyone’s expectations of him would shatter into nothingness. 

Nothing but the king’s slut, object to all of Asgore’s wanton, sexual desires. 

In the past, Gaster would have never admitted to something so depraved and vile. But now, he’s here under Asgore’s influence, licking the corner of his mouth, thirsting and expectant of his submission as Asgore’s hot breath huffed above him. 

Gaster quietly smacked his lips in preparation, and Asgore slipped his large hand down to free his aching erection from his pants. The king’s cock twitched, hard and tight with a myriad of pumping veins and muscle underneath. 

“Your Majesty,” Gaster moaned, wanting to taste and slurp it down his throat, “Give it to me.”

Asgore did, rubbing and swirling the large member teasingly around Gaster’s mouth, his drooling tongue trying to chase and capture it between his lips. Asgore took a slow breath through his nose, his length humping against Gaster’s mouth, and when the tip popped inside, he growled and his eyelids flickered from the agony. The need to release, to claim, to fuck, so bubbled and ready after a extensive period of self negligence. 

It was an incredibly snug fit, the sides of Gaster’s jaw strained apart, and he whimpered as Asgore’s cock stretched its’ spluttering corners and prodded the roof of his mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut as tears brimmed over from the strain. His lips pursed into a painfully tight ring while he brought his hands up to stroke Asgore’s length deeper and deeper into his eager mouth. Saliva dripped from the sides and his cheeks were sucking in every fat inch, whining until Asgore choked out a low groan that jostled his own erection. 

“So wet and tight,” Asgore husked, the base of his voice rumbling his lust as he bucked deep into Gaster’s mouth, feeling his cock engulfed in wet and slimy heat, “Mmmm yes, so good. You’re performing, mmrph, perfectly.”

Unable to contain his arousal, Gaster reached down to fondle his own growing erection. His fingers slipped over the sensitive skin, rhythmic and timed precisely, and the sweat and fever was building and building until his head spun, unable to control it. 

With the back of his head pressed against the wall, Asgore fucked into him, pushing past the muscle of his throat until he gagged, choking him, “So perfect. That’s it, take it all in.” 

Asgore leaned forward and crumpled his fingers on the plaster of the wall, his claws raking down the wallpaper as Gaster sucked him in deeper,“God, your mouth is so sublime.” He muttered deeply, “ I should have made you do this ages ago. Who would have known you had such talents?”

Asgore felt Gaster hands dig into his thighs to pull him closer, angling his hips for deeper entry, and that beautiful, contracting feeling spread up his body, threatening to explode. 

It was much too soon; before the flood, Asgore dragged himself out of Gaster’s mouth, his cock glistening from slobber, and Gaster was shaking and gasping for air, still needy and unsatisfied with thirst to envelop him. 

In a flash, Asgore had Gaster in his strong grip, easily pushing the smaller monster’s backside against the wall to dangle above his member. Gaster quickly threw his legs around Asgore’s hips, feet dangling loosely at the sides, his erection grinding into the boss monster’s waist. He grabbed onto Asgore’s arms for leverage, fisting the fur, and his eyes began to roll back as he felt the king rubbing the large, dripping cock flush against what was waiting and anticipating to filled. 

“You slut,” Asgore growled, glaring into Gaster’s hungry, concentrated stare, and thrusting his cock and spreading globs of spit from their previous, lewd act on Gaster's puckered hole, “You want this?”

“Yes, your Majesty, I want it,” like a needy slut, Gaster rolled his hips to feel his hole suction in the tip of Asgore’s member. Gaster looked into the king’s black, bottomless eyes, “I want you inside me.” 

Asgore moaned out, voice throaty and baritone, “As do I.” He ached with the same need. It showed in the way his legs nearly buckled and how adamant his face fought to hold down its’ frown. 

Gaster felt Asgore’s penetration in one, body-convulsing ache. It was too much to take, too small and tight to slide over the base of the boss monster’s cock, and Gaster whimpered, feeling full with barely an inch or two stuffed into him. 

Up and down, up and down, his back grated against the the wall, face burning hot and blushing as Asgore dutifully pounded into him. 

Sinking deep and thrusting fast, Asgore’s pace soon rocked out of control, tearing the wallpaper behind him into shreds with hunger, their breaths losing themselves in harsh, desperate, and ragged hyperventilations. Asgore buried deeper until Gaster swore he could feel the boss monster in his stomach, until his spine was burned and chaffed, until he clawed at whatever he could for purchase as a orgasm wracked through him, jittering every nerve fiber in his limbs. 

Gaster’s eyes mixed with tears and sweat, and he snaked his arms around Asgore’s neck. His SOUL felt as though it was in his throat, enduring excruciation and pleasure as Asgore fucked him into oblivion, not seeming to end anytime soon as Gaster succumbed to the king’s predatory, ravenous libido.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another lovely request~  
> Sorry, I won't be able to update for Kinktober everyday, please bear with me. Thank you for reading!


	3. Mettapants and Boot Worship

Kneeling and eyes glued to the hardwood floor, Burgerpants didn’t know how long sat there in Mettaton’s glitzy, glamorous private office. 

Mettaton didn’t give him any instructions on exactly what to do or how to do it, and after a taxing workday spent scrubbing floors clean, cooking standalone at the grill, and heckling with customers for hours, he wasn’t in the mood for any more of his boss’s sadistic, laborious demands. It was difficult to divert himself away from the high of anticipation, from the alternating shocks of fear and pique rippling up and down his spine, causing his fur to stand on end. 

He scowled and rubbed his sweaty palms on the front of his khaki pants; on edge, he was suddenly hyper-aware of how tight his collar was chafing at his neck, and how pungent and heavy the scent of perfume stained the entirety of the room, making his nose scrunch up in disgust. 

The unnerving quiet itched at his skin, and the rise of flagellation and failure and inadequacy compounded when a clicking noise met his ears, and a heavy sigh followed by a tsk of a tongue. It was a reminder of a sound he’d heard a thousand times before, echoed in other circumstances when he was in deep shit and expectant of reprimand. 

Burgerpants heard Mettaton move in his chair, but he kept his head down, body tense. 

“Come now, you are overreacting, Burgerpants,” Mettaton playfully chuckled above him. “This is not the worst assignment you’ve had since your employment!”

Oh, like the time Mettaton made him hand out samples of the Emporium’s new, Sea Tea Starfaits in some tacky, gaudy maid get-up? And then proceeded to mock and jeer at him publicly and loud enough for those two attractive girls in the back alley to overhear? And then they took pictures of him up skirt on their cellphones and uploaded it all over the Undernet captioned with tasteless jokes?

Well, when Burgerpants mulled over the thought, he concluded it wasn’t as degrading as that. 

Mettaton continued boastfully and winked flirtatiously, “You should be thankful! Not just anyone has the opportunity to come into direct, physical contact with my beautiful, new body. Think of how envious my adoring fans would be. They would love to be in your shoes right now!”

With his eyes reluctant and shielded, Burgerpants could imagine his boss’s face; smile curled in a sneer, eye twinkled in a mischievous glint, eyebrow devilishly arched, and hovering tall over him with that familiar domineering smugness he grew to loathe. 

He hated how much he cowered beneath Mettaton’s influence. 

When the top of Mettaton’s shiny, amorous boot was within his sight, Burgerpants felt his gut sour. 

“And speaking of shoes,” Mettaton jabbed the sharp end of his boot underneath Burgerpants’ chin, coaxing him to look up, “mine could do for a good polishing, wouldn’t you agree? Just look at how worn out they are after my dazzling performance today.”

Burgerpants resolved himself to look down at his boss’s feet. They were quite a captivating pair of boots; flashy, sparkly, and brilliantly expensive he could imagine, but there was hardly a trace of a smudge or nick. 

He frowned, “There’s nothing wrong with ‘em, Boss. They look fine to me.” His voice cut sharper than he intended, and he inwardly cringed, fearing Mettaton’s ire for being disobedient. 

“Obviously, you don’t have an eye for cleanliness, Darling.” That single word was uttered through Mettaton’s clenched teeth behind a composed smile, but something testy and irritable ticked in his eye. “It reflects in your work ethic. You’re sloppy.”

Mettaton adamantly pointed to the pristine grove of his boot, “Don’t you see that spot of grime there? And this blemish here? I cannot have a single, indecent speck of dirt on my brand-new boots!” 

“There’s nothing there, Boss! It’s just your imagination!”

Mettaton crossed his arms with a steely threat, “Look harder.”

Burgerpants growled indignantly under his breath, and upon much closer inspection, there was a tiny blot of discoloration on the bright pink of the boot, barely detectable. 

“Really, that’s it? That’s all you want me to clean?”

Arms still crossed, Mettaton pillowed back into his fluffy chair, causing the pump of the heel to stab squarely into Burgerpants’ chest. Venom dripped low in his voice, hanging on a single syllable, “Well?”

Burgerpants spat to the side in defiance, refusing to meet Mettaton’s scrutinizing gaze. His boss’s voice hardened, a tinge of annoyance laced in his words, “You know what to do, Burgerpants. A quick shoe shine, and then your shift will be over for the night. I don’t understand what the big deal is, it’ll just take a few seconds.”

He wouldn’t do it. 

“Aren’t cats supposed to be excessive groomers? This task should come across as second nature to you, Kitty.” Mettaton bopped a finger on Burgerpants’ nose endearingly. 

Grumbling, Burgerpants swatted Mettaton’s hand away, “You won’t catch me licking myself!” 

He bared a small number of prickly teeth beneath his upraised lips, snapping his jaw angrily, “That’s what we have showers for! You’re a goddamn robot, don’t you have a machine or something that can clean it for you?”

There was another sharp jab from Mettaton’s heel at his sternum that knocked the air out of him, setting him back into place. He winced, not daring to move. Mettaton was silent for a moment as if to gauge his reaction, and a harsh cold settled in Burgerpants’ stomach as he kneeled. 

Callously and with dangerous intent, Mettaton leaned forward in his seat with an expression that made Burgerpants shudder reflexively, “You are trying my patience. One more bad lip from you and I’ll boot you out the door to go scrub down every inch of wall at the hotel. Now hop to it, Kitty.” 

His SOUL roiled uncomfortably, trembling from his own ineptitude and the promise of the strenuous task that would see to throw out his already aching back. 

With no resistance stalling in his limbs, Burgerpants grinned shakily and manically before quickly fumbling for the boot, seeking forgiveness.

“O-okay, Boss. Sure thing.” 

Burgerpants gracelessly gripped the pump of Mettaton’s fetching heel, claws dragging down the side of precious pink, and with his other hand, he brought his sleeve to his mouth, biting and pulling the fabric over his hand as a makeshift cleaning cloth. He carefully balanced the heel in his lap to rub away the tiny buffs of dirt accumulated there, but Mettaton interrupted him with a scoff.

Mettaton tutted his tongue and rolled his eye, “Ugh, that’s not going to work. You’ll just spread it around doing that.” 

“Then how should I do it?”

“How do you think?” Mettaton waved his hand in the air dismissively, speaking matter-of-factly, “Like a kitty, obviously. Use your tongue.”

His eyes popped open and his mouth hung low, stupefied. 

Mettaton was quick to rebuke him, smiling down wickedly and amused, a thin crack in the solid veneer that formed his control over Burgerpants. 

“It’s only a few, tiny licks, Kitty. And then it’ll be all over.”

Burgerpants gulped down the rock in his throat, the ample weight of the perfume in the air making his head spin. He sweated profusely along his brow, calculating his options. How much trouble would he find himself in if he refused? 

“Go on, now.” Mettaton urged, “I have other important things to do. You’re lucky I’m so patient and gracious with you today.” 

Burgerpants’ rough tongue curled against the roof of his mouth, and in that moment, a strong wave resonated in his SOUL, pounding in his ears, and his quivering hands clutching tightly to the boot, smearing sweat along the surface from the pads of his paws. 

He’d never imagined his job would take him so far, succumbing and literally groveling at the feet of the Underground’s most grandiose celebrity. And with that, he couldn’t shake off the indulgent irony of it all; to be brought to Mettaton’s own private, disciplinary quarters and tasked with an act so scandalous and provocative he could have only fabricated it in some racy, wet dream. 

He stole a glace up to Mettaton’s intimidating, expectant face. Albeit, Mettaton was strikingly gorgeous, and when one foot absently came to rest on his thigh, the toe of it just grazing over his clothed member, a soft, needy whine exited his throat at that small brush of contact. 

Everything stood still. In a crystal of a second there was nothing but his breathing, Mettaton’s body, and his abdomen tingling from the sudden pulse at his cock. 

Mettaton made an inquisitive sound before the corner of his mouth turned into a smirk, radiating with mischief, and it made Burgerpants’ erection even harder to see his boss play with him. 

“Aren’t I gracious to you, Kitty?” Mettaton spoke, eye seductively lidded, “Now, get to it.” 

Painfully turned on by Mettaton’s chastisement, he simply nodded. He clenched his eyes shut, brought the boot to his mouth, feeling the cool of the metal on his lips, and gave a tentative lick. It was bizarre and awkward after a few more swipes of tongue; there wasn’t a taste of residue he could detect on the surface, and his body shivered, arousal growing. 

He figured he was doing a well enough job; Mettaton did not move or speak or make any indication that he wanted Burgerpants to stop, and that silent spur of approval and confirmation was enough motivation for him to continue. 

He worked quietly, and as if in a trance, and continued licking until a light sheen of saliva glossed on the metal. Burgerpants pulled away for a moment to catch his breath, feeling disgusted with himself but shamefully aroused, and he gasped when Mettaton’s unattended foot slid up the length of his cock in his pants. His member throbbed, and Burgerpants tried to swallow down the low moan threatening to leave his lips. 

“What do we have here?” Mettaton murmured teasingly, intent stark and bare, “That’s not a Glamburger in your pants, is it? So sloppy.”

Curiously, the other boot applied more pressure while gliding up his length, starting a slow, teasing pace, and subconsciously, Burgerpants’ waist leaned forward to accentuate the motion, letting it massage over his aching flesh. 

Burgerpants simultaneously stiffened, his posture erect and arousal growing, but he dared not to speak. He couldn’t give Mettaton that last tiny score of satisfaction, of control. Even if his body was tight and pinioned for release, he focused on the metallic taste of the boot instead. He hissed suddenly when one grind stroked just right against him. 

“Interesting,” Mettaton pondered, and the tip the robot’s boot caught on the loose button of Burgerpants’ khakis, allowing a couple inches of his erection to come free, a few droplets of fluid already slipping from the head, “looks like I just had to resort to other, non-traditional methods to get you to work.” 

Another stroke on his member, and Burgerpants pulled a rasping, shuddering breath, the pleasure striking up to his SOUL. The air was saturated with Mettaton’s scent and heavy intent, like pheromones clouding his mind. The soft but deliberate swipes rolled up and down his cock, and he blubbered, “Mettaton, Boss, please.”

“You should have just told me, Burgerpants. I can be very accommodating.” 

The hard edge of climax, elation, and panic was cresting, swelling. He was all nerves and sensation; a fumbled groan fell out of him, peaking to a panting mewl. 

“Please, please, please,” He begged, hips circling against the underside of the boot, his pace soon rocking out of control, his cock so hard and weeping where it flushed on his belly. He was so close he could feel it surging up and spasming, and his body locked with the promise of release. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” Firmly, Mettaton’s boot pressed down on the sensitive head of Burgerpants’ erection, bordering on painful, and a sliver of pre-cum stained the sole, “we wouldn’t want to dirty them after a good shine. It would be a shame for all that challenging work to go to waste.”

Mettaton lifted his boot away, and Burgerpants eyes blanched. He was so close, just a few more rubs away, but one coercive look from Mettaton was enough for him to falter back in line. He whimpered, hips bucking achingly, searching for friction.

His boss stood from his large chair, heels clacking on the hard, shiny floor, laughed, “Fix yourself up, Burgerpants. Honestly, show a little decorum,” and he strode out of the room, leaving a very pent-up Burgerpants to his own woes. 

Burgerpants quickly fumbled with the button on his pants to stuff his cock back behind the fabric, feeling the heat of embarrassment and humiliation billow on his cheeks. 

It just wasn’t fair. 

He tripped over his own feet when he shot up from the floor, and the sound must have alerted Mettaton whom poked his head back into the room. 

“Oh, and Burgerpants? I’m adding a new assignment to your schedule for tomorrow.”

Burgerpants smiled the widest he could, lips cracking at the sides from the strain, “Y-yeah, Boss? What is it?”

With a sultry chuckle, Mettaton responded, “I’ll be taking out floor waxing...”

“Okay?”

“...And adding shoe shining instead.” 

Mettaton traipsed out the room, leaving nothing but a flirtatious wink and a boastful laugh in the wake of his shadow. 

God, Burgerpants hated (loved?) his job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry.


End file.
